


Student Council Assemble

by Siberienne



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, BAMF Clint Barton, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Brock Rumlow is always an asshole, Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Confused Steve Rogers, Feminist Peggy Carter, M/M, Mysterious Stranger Bucky Barnes, No Prosthetic Bucky Barnes, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, SHIELD is a political party, Skinny Steve, Slow Burn, Steve is studying Architecture, Stucky - Freeform, Student Council, Virgin Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-13
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:33:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5620333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siberienne/pseuds/Siberienne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just another slice of life/ College AU/ coming of age/ eventual love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Let it Happen

**Author's Note:**

> I am from Australia, so I know next to nothing about the US schooling system. If I have anything wrong, let's just pretend this is a completely fictional AU and things just work that way. 
> 
> The character development and student politics are also loosely based off my own University campus (in Australia), so we'll just pretend that NYU works as I've described ;) and if you're from NYU- Sorry!

Skinny Steve reference pics

* * *

 

 Steve inhaled a deep breath as he adjusted his shirt and tried nervously to smooth his hair. He stared at himself in the mirror and tried practicing positive self-talk like his counsellor had taught him. _You can do this. You are smart. You got accepted into College. You won a scholarship. Time to shine Rogers…_

He slapped some colour back into his cheeks, puffed on his inhaler and tossed his backpack over one shoulder. Lastly, he chucked on his headphones and scrolled through his music selection before choosing Tame Impala- Let It Happen.

_It's always around me, all this noise_

_But not really as loud as the voice saying_

_Let it happen, let it happen (It's gonna feel so good)_

_Just let it happen, let it happen_

 

_All this running around_

_Trying to cover my shadow_

_An ocean growing inside_

_All the others seem shallow_

_All this running around_

_Bearing down on my shoulders_

_I can hear an alarm_

_Must be morning_

 

His mother was already at work but she had left some cash and a good luck note on the bench for him. He shoved them in his pockets and ran down the stairs of his bleak Brooklyn apartment into a glaringly bright August morning, ready to face the first day of Orientation Week at New York University. Deep breaths. One step at a time.

Orientation Week, or O-Week for short, was an opportunity to get to know the University campus before classes officially kicked off the following week. Well, that was the University’s intended purpose of O-Week. Good Guy Steve was genuinely looking forward to learning to navigate the campus so that he could find the correct lecture theatres and not embarrass himself later. For most students however O-Week was used to party, drink excessively and hook up in a flippant attempt to celebrate newfound adult freedom and symbolically defy 18 years of parental control.

Steve didn’t necessarily see all the fuss though. Being an only child of a widowed mother who did shift work, he was fairly independent already and didn’t need to push any boundaries. Well, he didn’t really have many boundaries to push. He was stubborn and opinionated, but very insightful and mature for his age. He had a great relationship with his mother so he had nothing to act out against. He was also introverted and had only a handful of other close friends who he would catch up with on occasions. He just wasn’t really a party animal. He would go to O-Week, not to drink or flirt or join any frivolous clubs, but to meet the faculty, tour the campus, then perhaps sit at the Art Gallery for a while.  He was damn excited to seize the next stage in his life though.

_I will not vanish and you will not scare me_

_Try to get through it, try to bounce to it_

_All the while thinking I might as well do it_

_They be lovin' someone and I'm not that stupid_

_Take the next ticket to take the next train_

_Why would I do it? And you wanna think that_

 

He made it to the station just in time to take the subway to campus. He briefly wished his family had enough money to enable him to stay on Campus in the Residence Halls so that the daily commute would be quicker. Then he remembered that campus would be noisy and he would be surrounded by Frat boys and he may get distracted or bullied or both. Yes, being distracted and being bullied ranked equally in Steve’s internal list of things he hates. Pretty cocky for a guy who stood at 5’4” and weighed 95lbs.

* * *

 

 

Steve stepped off the train when it reached his stop, turning the volume on his headphones down slightly so he could be more aware of the traffic and people around him.

Crowds were nothing new. Steve lived in New York so he was used to the traffic and noise. The university campus however; this was something entirely different.

Head held high, he approached the nearest gate to the campus. He didn’t get far though. At once, he was bombarded by a Green Left Weekly salesperson, a charity representative, three flyers for recreational clubs, an invitation to a party, and a campus tour guide. Taken aback, he just smiled as a lock of hair flopped against his face.  Awkwardly, he accepted each of the flyers and folded them to fit in his backpack. He tried to keep moving but the Green Left activist stepped in his way, rambling about global injustices that **required his attention right now!** Nice Guy Steve tried to be polite, but the tour guide noticed that he needed help, so he extended his right hand to introduce himself. “Hey, are you new? I’m Clint. Fourth year Sports Science, president of the Archery Club and Sports Association delegate to the Student Union. I can help you around the campus if you like.” With an emphatic sigh of relief, Steve shook his hand and replied “Steve Rogers. First year Architecture. President of nothing. And yes, please.”

Clint assisted Steve to download the orientation app, which was inbuilt with maps, reviews, event timetables and a service directory. Since his shift at the front gate was over anyway, Clint continued helping Steve and led him to the Student Centre to obtain his Student ID card. The waiting line was unbelievably long. It extended through the room, out the doors and around a balcony and even down some steps. Luckily, Steve thought, he decided to come in the morning. Goodness knows how long this process would take after lunch. The other students were sweaty and hyperactive and he couldn’t help overhearing a group of guys to his right bragging, comparing and placing bets on the number of women they intend to hook up with over the course of the week. Steve glanced sideways at Clint who was chuckling under his breath. “Virgins,” Clint said. “They won’t have a damn clue what to do with a lady once the time comes.”

Steve shifted his feet. Steve was a virgin. Was there something funny about being a virgin? Would Clint laugh at him too if he found out? Okay, now his courage was waning and he felt himself becoming the awkward, shy, scrawny kid he feared he would be.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with being a virgin of course. Hell, most people haven’t done it by the time they finish high school. It just shits me off that people lie about it like that. It’s so obvious. If people were honest there would be a lot less social pressure around this place.” He sounded like he was speaking from experience.

Now that was something Steve could get behind. “Yeah, honesty is the best policy,” he nodded.

Two more Student Centre attendants were called to the office to assist taking photos and printing ID cards. The line instantly started to move much more quickly. Once at the front, Steve handed over his enrolment papers and sat behind a desk in front of the camera. The flash had come and gone before Steve was ready and he was captured looking like a deer caught in the headlights. To make matters worse, the colour calibration in the printer was playing up, so his ID photo looked as if he had extra pale skin and bright red lips. _Pretty..._ He thought sarcastically to himself and blushed. He would have to show this stupid photo every time he needed student ID for the next 4 years. Yelp.

It was now lunch time and Clint had other duties to attend to. Steve waved him off, put his new ID card in his wallet, threw his backpack back on and headed towards the main street to relax at the art gallery. Before he could untangle his headphones however, he heard someone call his name. This was very strange he thought, as he didn’t think he knew anyone at NYU.

* * *

 

 

“Steve Rogers!” He turned around to see a very beautiful young woman with curled dark hair and vintage polka dot shirt dress. She could have easily been a pin-up model from the 1940s. “Do you remember me? I was a couple of years above you at school. Peggy. Peggy Carter.”

Steve realised who she was. “Yes, I do remember actually. You were really smart.”

“Were?” She giggled and teased his choice of tense, “I like to think I still am.”

“Of course, I just mean, from what I remember, from the past.” Steve was humiliated at the possibility of offending such a gorgeous and successful woman.

“I’m kidding! I know what you mean. It sounds like you need a drink. I’m heading up to the Bar in a minute with my squad if you wanna come.”

Steve considered his options. He planned to only do the official enrolment stuff and relax and recharge at the gallery. But, he did need to make friends and it was O-Week after all. Take a chance. _Let it happen_ , he thought. “Ah, yeah okay, why not.”

Peggy squealed a little and dragged him up the elevator. On the way up Steve learned that she was in her third year of Cybersecurity and she was passionate about encouraging more women to work in engineering, maths and science. Steve was amazed at Peggy’s intelligence and determination. They reached the floor of the bar and got checked for IDs. Steve was underage anyway, but his stature meant that he couldn’t get away with faking if he tried. Peggy got fitted with a wristband which would allow her to purchase alcohol and they stepped inside. A group of equally as beautiful young women waved out to them. Peggy dragged Steve over to meet them.

“Steve, this is my cousin Sharon. She is also studying Cybersecurity.” She then pointed to the next in line, “this is my fabulous roommate Angie. She is doing Film Studies. Then there’s Jane. She is a kickass Astrophysics student and last but not least, her best friend Darcy who is studying Political Science. So, in a nutshell, don’t mess with us, because we will hack you and discover all your secrets and make a film about it to use as a scare campaign.” They were all nodding their heads and laughing in unison and something told Steve they weren’t entirely joking.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll consider myself warned.”

Steve and the girls talked and laughed all afternoon. Steve stuck to orange juice, and they shared a few plates of chips. He couldn’t believe how easily the conversation was coming to him. He smiled softly and admired the way that Peggy’s hair bounced when she laughed. The way her eyes lit up and glistened when she was spoke passionately about something. Her cheeks were full and rosy and she was full of passion and life. Unfortunately, the girls decided to go back to their dorm for dinner since food was included in the Residence fees, so they hugged Steve goodbye and exchanged phone numbers with him.

* * *

 

 

As he was leaving the bar himself, he suddenly felt himself thrown off balance. He stumbled away and regained his balance, looking up to see what had happened. Staring over him was a slightly older guy, athletic build, dark hair, mean eyes and tanned skin; clearly drunk and upset about something. He stunk of Axe body spray, sweat and beer and was glaring at Steve like he had just massacred a small village.

He bent down, yelled, spat and slurred in Steve’s face. “How the fuck did you, little faggot just get four chicks’ phone numbers at once you fucking son of a bitch. You’re a weak little mutt, you know that, and you can’t even handle them like I could.”

Steve’s mind was racing but his body was stunned, “uh, they’re just friends from school.”

“Just friends. That’s what they all say you fucking little punk-ass brat. Go the fuck home and get out of this bar.”

“I was. But I’ll have you know that I have just as much right to be here as anyone else.”

With that comment, Brock’s fist connected with Steve’s left temple and he was out in one heavy blow. “Insolent bitch!”

The room fell silent as Brock rubbed his knuckles, gratified by his victory. Steve laid motionless on the floor, a bruise developing across his cheekbone.

Before anyone could comprehend the scene, a security guard grabbed Brock by the collar and chucked him out the door, calling the police to report the assault. Once the security guard returned to the room, Steve’s body had been moved, but he just glimpsed the blonde being carried out the other door, slumped over the shoulder of a shadowed figure in a black hoodie.


	2. Sense and Respond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's POV

College Bucky reference pic. 

A little bit Wintery, but a lot sweet. 

* * *

 

Images flashed through his mind’s eye continuously like a horror movie reel without an off button.

_Guys, girls. Laughing, a bonfire, drinking, dancing._

_Blurry vision, refusing another drink._

_Wanting to go home._

_Friends popping pills. Friends climbing into the car. Friends giggling in the back seat. The driver with a bottle of bourbon._

_Racing to the car, to push the driver aside and take the wheel. Even though he was tired and tipsy, he thought he would be more capable at driving than them._

_Giggling in the back seat. Squealing. SIT DOWN!_

_A small distraction. A micro-sleep. A truck through the windshield._

_Blood. Glass. Blood. Screaming. More blood. Ringing in the ears. So much pain. Blackness._

 

Bucky clenched his jaw with rage as he hooked a punch to the boxing bag with his right fist and nudged it with his left shoulder.

“Stupid fucking.” Punch. Punch. Punch punch. Punch. “Stupid fucking piece of shit!” With one final punch he dropped to his knees sobbing on the floor of the University gym.

The names he had been called cycled through his mind.

_Reckless. Careless. Manipulator. Liar. Drunk._

_Killer._

_Killed all his friends and only lost an arm._

_Deserves to die._

Natasha broke out of her own rhythm and leaned over Bucky to comfort him. “It’s okay Buck. You’re doing a really good job. Let’s get cleaned up and we’ll be on stage in 15.”

* * *

 

 

Before the accident (Bucky will never allow it to be called an accident though since he shoulders the responsibility for making a poor decision and he makes himself suffer through the consequences), Bucky was a happy-go-lucky, smooth talking, popular young gentleman. He was deputy School President in his senior year and among the top ranking students of his graduating year. He could have melted the arctic with the warmth of his smile, and smoothed the Rockies with his words.

But now he hated himself. Being helpful got his friends killed. He lost the year after his graduation dealing with the legal system, depression, PTSD and physiotherapy. Socially, he had to deactivate all his social media accounts due to the blame from other students, friends of friends, parents of friends, and parents of friends of friends. The list goes on. Even the local newspapers named him as the reckless driver who was “irresponsible enough to get behind the wheel at BAC 0.06 and cause the death of 4 innocent recent graduates.” Last year, with the help of Natasha and his family, he tried to get on with his life and enrol in College. He had managed to marginally pass his first year of his Bachelor of Science; a significant fall from grace since his student president/ almost valedictorian days.  And now he was about to enter his second year.

Bucky took up martial arts as a recommendation by his physiotherapist. He felt powerless without his left arm, so it was suggested that he could learn some new techniques to compensate and help him to come to terms with his changed body. First he took some kickboxing lessons and this was energising but not quite right. Then he took some Kung Fu. He tried Karate, Taekwondo, Judo, Krav Maga. He ultimately fell in love with Jujutsu. The way he could calculate his movements and potentially squeeze the life out of someone. The way he could similarly calculate how to remove himself from a choke hold and choose life for himself. He discovered that his stump gave him an advantage as he couldn’t be pinned back by both arms. He could always find a way to wriggle out of the hold and use his legs to get his opponent down. It was empowering and it was liberating.

For exercise, Bucky transferred his skills to join a Mixed Martial Arts club. It was a lot more brutal than basic Jujutsu but it was fun, especially for learning to harness and control his feelings of anger. Now, he and his colleague/ training partner, Nat were about to do an MMA demonstration on the university lawns for O-Week.  

* * *

 

The compere introduced the duo and they stepped onto the stage. Bucky felt his pulse rate increase as he looked out into the crowd and wondered if anyone there knew who he was, or blamed him, or hated him. He breathed deeply and focused on calming his mind. Natasha clipped on a wireless lapel mic so she could explain to the crowd the moves they were demonstrating. Instincts took over and he was in the zone.

Instincts.

Zone.

Watch. Sense. Respond.

Something caught his eye. 

_Hair of golden silk and wide innocent eyes the colour of sapphires._

_WHOMP._

“What the fuck was that?” Natasha mumbled to Bucky in Russian.

Bucky shrugged and shifted straight back into character.

The audience gasped and clapped as they threw each other around the stage and explained various techniques. Natasha finished the show by inviting any interested students to visit the Sports Association to join the MMA club. With a roar of appreciation, they stepped off stage.

Natasha threw off her microphone and slammed Bucky against a tree trunk. “What the hell. You lost concentration in a demonstration. You gonna lose concentration in a fight? If it was a competition you would have lost. If it was an attack you would have died. Do you care to tell me what was so important that I was able to hit you in the face?”

Bucky thought back to the hair that shone almost white in the sun. And those bright eyes and those flushed cheeks, and that smooth alabaster skin. He blushed and his lips turned up gently.

“Earth to James.”

“I saw someone.” He was still staring out into the distance with a goofy expression of his face.

“Yeah no shit. I could see lots of people. It was a demonstration you idiot. People were watching us.”

“No. Not just anyone. He was gorgeous.”

Natasha shook her head tempted to berate Bucky for his carelessness, but she was also sort of proud of him. “First time you’ve shown interest in anybody since the accident. Poor timing to show the interest, but progress nonetheless. Go get him tiger.”

“If I knew who he was I would.”

* * *

 

 

Natasha and Bucky got changed back into their casual clothes. Even though it was early Spring, Bucky insisted on wearing a hoodie to hide his face and his lack of arm. They decided to head up to the Bar for a drink. Unlike Steve, Bucky looked older than his years. Biologically, he was almost 20, but his strong build, scruffy hair and stubble allowed him to pass for 25. He got in the door and given a wristband without being asked for ID. Natasha was 22 but they didn’t bother to ask her either.

“Pick your poison. First jug is on me,” offered Natasha.

They grabbed a jug of cider and two glasses and sat on one of the back couches. One of their favourite past times was people-watching in the bar. Natasha placed the first bet. “Those two people over there; they only met today.”

“As if,” Bucky challenged. “Look at how close they are. They so know each other.”

“Loser does a dare,” Natasha winked.

“Fine.” Bucky approached the couple shamelessly. “Excuse me. This may sound like a really odd question, but how long have you known each other for?”

The pair looked at each other not sure how to react. The girl spoke up “oh um, we only met this morning. He was advertising the Film Society and I walked by and signed up, then for some reason I ended sitting at the booth and we kept hanging out all day.”

“Damn! I mean that’s cool. Thought you were someone else. Sorry,” He rolled his eyes and sat back down next to Nat. “Dare me.”

“Hahhaahaha. My observations are always accurate. They call me the Black Widow for a reason.”

Bucky’s first dare was to challenge a guy to a game of pool. He whined about how unfair and embarrassing it was since he had no second hand to guide the cue with. Nat reminded him that this was the point. Dares were meant to be uncomfortable. When Bucky challenged the other guy, he stood up overconfidently and headed to the table. Bucky chose to break since he initiated the game. Every spectator around the table was silently mocked the one-armed man, expecting him to slip the cue and embarrass himself. When he didn’t, their jaws dropped to the floor. Even Natasha’s jaw dropped.

Bucky had managed to angle himself so as to guide the cue across the side of his body. He broke the balls apart with superhuman accuracy and sunk two large. This meant he got another go. He circled the table and calculated the next best angle. He leaned his body over the cue again and mustered up appropriate force with his right elbow. Another ball went in. Bucky did this twice more before accidentally sinking the white ball, giving the opponent two free shots.

He had drawn quite the crowd by this stage. He would have felt like a circus freak if it weren’t for the humiliation the other guy was feeling. The opponent sunk one ball and then missed the next two shots. Back to Bucky. He won within the next two rotations. “Good game dude. See ya round.” he said as he shook the opponent’s hand. The opponent stared him down with resentment and returned silently to his group. He could hear the guys saying “Aww Brock! Dude! You got hustled by a loser with one arm! You suck!” Brock was furious. He grabbed the beer jug off the table and brought the whole thing to his lips.

“The fuck? You never said you were a pool shark.”

“Eh. I had a year off to nothing but drink, cry and learn how to get by with one arm. I got creative. No big deal.”

For the rest of the afternoon, people kept asking Bucky for his phone number, photographing him and buying him and Nat drinks. Brock kept looking around like he wanted to kill someone.

* * *

 

It was nearing dinner time, and Bucky and Nat were going to return to the Residence Halls. Bucky’s family only lived in Brooklyn, but they insisted that he have an ‘authentic college experience’ and stay on campus. He went along with it. They ducked out momentarily to use the restrooms, but when they returned, the room was silent and someone was on the floor.

Bucky’s protective instincts went into overdrive when he spotted the small frame and blonde hair. He ran towards the body faster than he could think rationally, knelt down, scooped up the body with his right arm, propped it over his shoulder and shot out the back door.

“Nat, this is the guy I told you about.”

"Jesus James. When I said to go get him, this was **not** what I had in mind." 


	3. Keep The Bastards Honest, Cap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve meets a mentor who encourages him to harness his unrelenting sense of justice for a greater cause.

Bucky had decided that he didn’t want to meet the ‘cute blond’ for the first time under these circumstances, despite his urge to admire Steve and keep him safe. While Steve was unconscious, Natasha had called the ambulance while Bucky kept him comfortable while they waited. Bucky tried not to stare too much at the way Steve’s eyelashes met his cheekbones, the way his cheeks remained flushed while he smiled peacefully in his sleep, but he just couldn’t help himself. His heart hurt. _What a beautiful fucking human being_. Bucky cradled Steve’s head and admired his face once more before forcing himself to stop stroking the stranger’s hair, especially in a public place. _What if he wakes up and sees me touching his hair? Ugh he might think that I drugged him and carried him away myself._ _Then I’ll scare him away. What if I scare him away anyway? What if he doesn’t even like men anyway? But he’s so beautiful. The universe is so unfair._ _Not like this. Not like this._ Bucky laid Steve down carefully as the paramedic arrived and strolled off with Natasha into the night.

* * *

 

When Steve regained consciousness, he was seated on a park bench on the University lawns, having his blood pressure checked by a paramedic. The sun had now almost completely set and a cool breeze chilled his bony shoulders.

 “Where am I? What happened?” Steve asked, startled. He looked around to see a student riding a pushbike away and a security guard monitoring the campus. In the distance, a group of students roared with laughter at a private joke, and Steve’s ears head stung at the sudden noise. He was slightly dizzy and his ears rung a little.

The paramedic introduced himself as Phil. He was middle aged, jovial and protective in a friendly sort of way. He explained that a pair of kind strangers had found him knocked out in the bar, carried him to safety and called 911. He handed Steve an icepack for his forehead and he asked Steve a series of questions to test his level of alertness. He began by asking Steve simple questions such as the date, year, his name and address. Once he was satisfied that Steve was functional, he began to question him about the incident to get better insight into the extent of his injury.

“Do you remember who punched you?”

“Yeah. Just some drunken sweaty asshole with all bravado and no brains.” He seemed unfazed.

Phil choked back a shocked laugh, “and can you remember why?”

“Hmm, well. I caught up with an old friend from school. I was just leaving and exchanging phone numbers then he yelled at me for getting 4 girls’ phone numbers.”

“Dude… Way to go! Never underestimate the small guy hey.”

“Oh,” Steve blushed, “I suppose it could have looked that way but really, they really are only friends.” _I didn’t really think of it as otherwise. Is that weird?_

Phil shook his head in bemusement, “And I suppose this bloke was jealous?”

Steve’s eyes widened as he  raised his eyebrows and nodded fervently. “He was more than that. He was downright furious. He just spat in my face, told me to get lost and knocked me out.”

“What an ass. I hope he was thrown out.”

“Hope so too. Well, actually. I did stand up for myself first. I told him that I was leaving anyway, but that I had just as much right to be there as anyone else.”

He shrieked again. “You’re a fiery little punk aren’t you, Christ? I’d punch you if I weren’t so proud of you. You’re stupid… but brave nevertheless. Tell me, do you need a ride home or what?”

“Oh shit yeah. I usually take the subway though. My mum will be worried sick. By the way, how bad is the bruise? “

“Uhh, you may need to borrow some of your mum’s concealer tomorrow. And keep it iced. Get in. I won’t let you take the subway after the day you’ve had.”

* * *

 

On the way home, Steve learned that Phil had also studied at NYU back in the day and he listened enthusiastically to the paramedic’s memories of his college days. Phil had been one of the founders and leaders of a student political party called ‘Shield’. Steve had never even realized that universities had politics. Was that naïve of him?

“Shield stood for. Well, _stands for_ the protection of students’ rights to equality, democracy and fair treatment. We called ourselves the defenders of social justice on campus; defenders of student rights.”

Steve nodded slowly, “good name, Shield... Defense... Clever!” His eyes were slowly opening to the new world he had entered.

Phil reminisced. “Yeah, you’d think so. Tough gig though. Most students don’t even think about their rights on campus. They take their freedoms for granted so they get annoyed when you try to engage with them.”

Steve felt unnerved, “But you should never get complacent about anything. You should stand up at every chance you get.”

Phil nodded.

“Why don’t they care? How can people be so blind and only think about themselves like that?”

Phil shrugged, “way of the world.”

“So without student representation, no one would care about anything?”

Phil nodded again, “Pretty much yeah. Students helped fight for Civil Rights for god’s sake. And there would be no events like O-Week either. The Student Union and the Student Representative Council organize all that on behalf of the entire student body.”

Steve was shocked; disappointed, yet insistent. “How come you didn’t pursue politics?”

“Oh,” Phil took a deep breath. “This is the other thing you need to understand about campus politics. A large majority of student politicians are just hacks with career goals; resume stackers if you will. They take the game way too seriously and only care about getting experience and landing internships and eventually running for office themselves. Even some in Shield I’m sad to say. Good intentions to begin with, but they lost themselves to the power struggle. I wanted to be able to genuinely help people.”

“But. But. But.” Steve was struggling to understand the concept, “why get into politics if you don’t actually care about the issues?”

“Baffles me too, my friend.” Phil shook his head this time, remembering the fallings out he had with his friends over petty little things. People he once considered genuine friends never spoke to him again if he voted against them or remained friends with an opponent. If politics were a sport, the players had become unable to distinguish between game-time and real life.

“Damn I wish there was something I could do. I’m so angry!” Steve exclaimed.

“Get involved,” urged Phil. “The world needs more people like us; people who actually care. Power corrupts, and without honest people like us, there’s no one to watch the watchers. ‘ _True Believers’_ is what they called us; the ones who stayed loyal to the cause. I think you’re a true believer, Steve-o. You’ve got integrity, courage, conviction, and an old fashioned American charm about you.”

They pulled up at Steve’s driveway and he thanked Phil for the ride. “It was great to meet you. Keep the bastards honest, Rogers.” With that, Phil saluted and drove away. 

Steve took a moment to comprehend the salute. He had never been seen as a leader before.

* * *

 

 

Steve knew that once he stepped inside, he would be drowned in questions by his mother. He opened the door, taking in the scent of dinner cooking, put his bag away. Sarah was standing over the stovetop focused on stirring a casserole when she began asking Steve about his day.

“It was great!” He reflected. “I met this guy Clint who does archery and he showed me around the campus. Then I got my student ID and had lunch and then I met Peggy from school and I went to the bar with her and some of her friends. It was really cool. There are so many people with ideas at college, I feel like I fit in somewhere for the first time in my life.”

“Oh honey that’s so great!” gloated Sarah. Turning around to give her son a congratulatory hug, she grabbed him by the cheeks and her eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Oh my god. Darling where did you get this bruise from? Are you okay? Did you get beat up again?”

She emphasized the word ‘again’, referring to Steve’s history of accidentally provoking bullies. If Sarah wasn’t already a trained nurse, she would have gained equivalent experience through patching Steve up after school. Despite his slight stature, he was quick to stand up for others and he always preferred to take a hit rather than see anyone else suffer. When Sarah warned him that he shouldn’t endanger himself like that, Steve would always reply that he was doing the right thing and he didn’t care if he got hurt, as long as he did the right thing. She therefore existed in a constant state of mixed pride and concern. Just like his father, her son was stubborn and brave, but her heart still broke every time she saw him hurt.

“Sorry mum. I’m okay though I swear.”

She stroked his face and sighed. “You’re such a good kid Stevie. I don’t understand people. Here, I’ll get you a cold compress and then dinner will be ready. I also made apple pie for a treat.”

* * *

 

 

After dessert, Steve had a shower and retired upstairs in his bedroom.

He laid in bed with his sketchbook on his lap. He sketched Clint in the style of ranger leaping into battle, and Peggy as a glamorous post-war era secret agent. He sketched his attacker snarling at him through seething eyes and Phil at a lectern saying “Keep Fighting the Good Fight”. Finally he made a list of things to do this week:

  * Talk to the student union
  * Get course readings
  * Find lecture halls
  * Check out the library
  * Make ~~friends~~ more friends
  * Call Peggy
  * Ice my face.
  * Try not to get into any more fights.
  * ~~Smile~~ Keep smiling ~~~~



As soon as he turned off the lamp, he was out. He dreamed that he was tall and muscular and that he was using a shield to save the university from drunken idiots and everyone was calling him ‘ _Captain_ ’. He blamed the conversation with Phil for that one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Up next: Day 2 of O-Week! 
> 
> We meet more characters and learn how they're connected. Steve finds the Union office and Bucky pines like a schoolgirl.


	4. Service with a Stutter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha is a total badass. Bucky is totally not smooth when he is nervous.

In a small and dusty room to the back of the campus, in the area least seen by the public and therefore deemed least worthy of renovations, a small crowd gathers to with eyes drooped to the front of the room _. It’s an AGM_ , they think. _How spectacular can any of it be? At least there is pizza and beer._ If there were no perks nobody would ever come to AGMs. The meeting begins and members present reluctantly raise their hands, speak and vote when asked to. Like zombie soldiers, they do what they need to do, with minimal effort and energy. Time ticks by. 90 minutes have passed and everybody just wants to leave. That is, until the end when the emcee announces that they have a surprise guest presentation. The mood shifts with anticipation and people wonder, is it a celebrity? A comedian? A politician? A sports star? However, anticipation fades to disappointment when the emcee introduces that NY Academy of Martial Arts is running a private self-defense demonstration. The attendees who had already learned self defense sighed with boredom and shuffled their feet. Those who hadn’t were still irritated that they hadn’t been given a choice in the matter.

That was, until the facilitator emerged. Deafening silence fell over the room. Eyes bulged and jaws dropped. There was probably drool too. She was petite, yet strong, quick and flexible. She was fair-skinned, yet her temperament was intense and unyielding like the red of her hair. She spoke with authority. Her confidence was simultaneously as alluring as it was terrifying. She commanded attention. She demanded compliance.

_Yes ma’am_

No one can remember anything that the facilitator said up until she approached the audience for a volunteer.

_Pick me. Pick me. If I have to die, I’m happy to die by your beautiful hands._

“You,” her emerald eyes pierced right through her victim’s skull like a freshly sharpened arrow. He gulped and rose shakily. She beckoned him to stand facing her and began to explain her way through the move she was planning. He wasn’t listening. His heartbeat was louder than her words. Before he knew it, he landed flat on his back with a thump. He opened his eyes to reveal a red-headed assassin goddess straddling his torso with her hands forced on his biceps. Of course he said something stupid.

“ _You’re really pretty.”_ He declared softly, hypnotised.

 _THUD._ A well deserved punch in the face.

Roars of laughter ensued.

And that was how Clint Barton met Natasha Romanov.

He returned to his seat humiliated and rejected. Why couldn’t he have kept a lid on his emotions and a cork in his goddam mouth? After the demonstration, Clint calmed his nerves enough to apologise to Natasha.

“I want to apologise for what I said. I swear I’m not usually like that. I didn’t mean to hit on you like that. I’m not some sort of pervert a promise. The words just came out.” He clenched his jaw waiting for further rejection which never arrived.

He was met with a laugh instead. _What is this?_ “Aww you’re too sweet. I didn’t hit you because of what you said, silly. I hit you because you messed up my routine,” then she actually leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He turned red as a tomato. “You just owe me a drink. And you must promise me you’ll never make a fool of me like that again?”

“I promise.” With a dry mouth, Clint swallowed his anxiety away once again.

“Also, I chose you for a reason you know. You’ll come to know that I never do anything by accident. I did my research and came prepared. You’re quite an impressive guy. Intelligent, disciplined, accurate… albeit a bit goofy,” She smirked at him privately, then immediately straightened her face to prove a point. “I can be nice you know. Just don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.” They continued up to the bar.

It was the Fall of 2012, and that was the story of how Natasha and Clint became a couple.

Natasha went on to study International Relations and Languages majoring in Russian. Clint often joked that she was studying how to become a Russian spy. “Come on, you know it looks!” He would laugh. “You’re already a black belt fighter with killer good looks. And now you know everything about global politics and you speak Russian.” If she _was_ planning to become a secret agent, no one would know. Clint nicknamed her the Black Widow, due to her 1) her dress sense 2) her exhaustive web of social contacts 3) her scarily accurate observational skills 4) her stealth and reflexes and 5) the fact that she was small but deadly. She called him Hawkeye in reference to his gold medal winning accuracy in archery. Together, they were BlackEye, which ironically, perfectly describes the circumstances under which they met.

* * *

 

Bucky and Natasha had been best friends since he took up martial arts as part of his recovery. As is the case with most young men, talking therapies had proved ineffective for Bucky. He wasn’t ready to face the situation and he wasn’t able articulate the extent of his feelings; loss, hopelessness, regret, guilt, shame, frustration, anger, self-hatred. And that was just the psychological side. Physically, he was struggling to come to terms with the loss of his left hand. He was thankful for small mercies that he retained his dominant hand, but mostly everything required the use of two. He was a talented musician so realizing that he would no longer be able to play the guitar was heartbreaking. He couldn’t type properly anymore, eat properly, balance properly, even tie his own fucking shoelaces and button up fucking shirts. He had been so close to losing all sense of purpose that he was tempted to recreate the crash and made sure he damn well died this time like he deserved to. Only, it was near impossible to drive one-armed so he broke down, lashed out and cried and cried. He felt powerless, defenseless, worthless and hopeless.

With a bit of encouragement, Bucky reluctantly agreed to start fighting. He had still not even begun to forgive himself, but he agreed that he needed to learn to come to terms with his changed body. Natasha earned her black belt when she was only 16 and was therefore able to teach classes. She had been Bucky’s trainer when she noticed that he had a lot of potential, but that he had also been holding back a lot. He held so much anger behind those steely blue eyes; she just knew that he was bound to break eventually. He needed to, for his own good. She started training in one-on-one to try and get him to open up more. After pushing him particularly hard one afternoon; he finally broke. He screamed and yelled and cried and all his emotions came flooding out. Natasha was the first person who he ever opened up to post-accident. He owed her his life almost literally.

Now Bucky fights. He has managed to adapt relatively healthily to a world designed for people with two arms. He may not be worry-free. Hell, he’s still insecure as fuck; terrified of getting too close to anyone in case he somehow contributes to their deaths too. He still worries that people think he’s a murderer. He still has the odd nightmare. He’s short tempered and avoidant. But, he is alive, and he as long as he continues to put one foot in front of the other and wake up each day, things can only improve. Of course he misses the boy he was before, but he doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it anymore.

* * *

 

Bucky didn’t go to O-Week the next day. As a second year student, he didn’t need to get orientated. He also didn’t have to perform and he didn’t have any other friends to meet up with. So, he was rostered on at one of the numerous campus coffee shops. He was lucky to get a job there, with the obvious disability and all. Having one arm wasn’t considered grounds for unfair discrimination since the impairment would genuinely impact on the efficiency of the work. I.e. how can you hold a mug and pour a coffee at the same time? How can you hold a plate and dry it with a tea-towel in the other? You can’t obviously. But Natasha had dirt on the hiring manager, _because of course she did._ Bucky proved himself to be a surprisingly useful. As long as he could rest the cup on the bench, he could pour. He could carry multiple plates in those long muscular arms of his as long as someone helped to stack them onto him. He could take orders and operate the till. And he could flirt. _My, could he flirt_. The shop actually increased sales and received praise from customers for hiring a hot amputee, _because compassion_. So now Natasha has a ‘told you so’ over the hiring manager as well.

Bucky hadn’t slept well the night before. All he could picture were red lips, fair skin, bright baby blue eyes, floppy golden blonde hair, nimble fingers, adorkable smile. What were the chances that the guy who caught his eye earlier in the day and distracted him on stage would also end up needing rescuing later that night? Something about him was so special; he was so cute and innocent and gentle, but also so stubborn and proud. He was everything Bucky wasn’t. He was everything Bucky imagined he needed. God, he didn’t even know anything about him though. He could be wrong. He could be…

_James. Customer!_

“Welcome.” Bucky turned around to address his customer, and oh no. He was staring straight down the barrel of those bright baby blues; as light as the midday sun; as deep as the deepest seas. “What can I... do… today…? Hi. How? What can I?” _Fuck. Breathe._ “What can I get for you today?” _Oh my god. I have an amputated arm and an intellectual disability today. Kill me now._ Okay, so Bucky could usually flirt.

The blonde just laughed and grinned sympathetically, “tough day huh? I’ll have a large Americano to go. Cheers.”

“Big coffee for a little guy.” _Help. Help someone stitch my lips too._

Steve shrugged. Stature jokes weren’t new, “I guess I need the caffeine today.”

Name?”

“Steve.”

_Steve Steve Steve Steve Steve. Steve probably hates me._

Bucky turned around to prepare the coffee, careful not to say anything else in case of more word vomit. _Steve_ stood there looking rosy and relaxed. Oh he was so cute Bucky wanted to just scoop him up in his arm and cover him with kisses and fill him with love. He knew already he could lift Steve with one arm. He fantasised about doing it with Steve awake this time, and with consent… and romance. _Oh god._

 _“Steve!_ ” He called, “large Americano. Have a good day. Thank you.”

Steve grabbed the cup and flashed an awkward grin, shaking his bangs out of his face. “Keep soldiering on pal. You got this.” And with a nod, he was gone. Bucky felt as if he had just drowned in a tsunami.

 

* * *

 

Steve shook off the experience, assuming that the café worker must have been new to the job and nervous around customers. He’d been to his morning introductory lecture; hence the need for the mid-morning pick-me-up, and now it was time to enjoy more campus culture.

He sat on the lawns across from the stage. He took a show bag stuffed with ‘essential student things’ like pens and brochures, instant noodles and energy drinks. He took a seat to watch the entertainment. There was a band playing, called the ‘Fantastic 4’. They were a bit silly, but suitable for the occasion. _Right_ , Steve thought, _time to find the student union._

To his delight, there was a stall set up on the other side of the main lawns. He bowled over and waited to be addressed.

A young woman with a brown ponytail introduced herself as Kitty. “Are you new? Anything I can help you with in particular? Accommodation? Scholarships? Student welfare? Health services?”

“Uh,” Steve replied. “I’m actually wanting to know how I can get involved.”

“Cool!” She smiled. “Great to see new students with passion! Have you done other activism before?”

Steve paused. Not officially. Apart from just standing up for things and people. “I guess anti-bullying stuff, yeah” he lies.

“Neat. Let me get our President. Hold on.” Kitty walked around the tent to find a thin woman in her mid 20s with long red hair. She was intimidatingly sophisticated and intelligent.

“I’m Jean Grey. Masters in Psych and I’m the NYU Union President.” She extended her hand, and gave Steve’s an earnest shake. “I’m afraid there’s not a lot going on at the moment as the year is just starting, but I can give you some stuff and take your details.” She was a lot more serious and direct than Kitty. She offered Steve a student-produced magazine, some stickers and a spare out of date campaign t-shirt and told him thanks and they would catch up soon.

With his to-do-list under control, Steve finally allowed himself to stroll leisurely to the art gallery and indulge in the tranquil beauty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Orientation is over and classes begin. Steve gets asked out- bow chicka wow wow .


	5. Getting to Know You

At 6:30am, Steve’s alarm sounded, as loud and bold as the world outside. With long and dexterous fingers, he smoothed his golden locks out of his face and stretched towards his bedhead in a drawn out yawn. His lustrous lashes flicked open as he greeted the new day with bright eyes and a radiant smile. Today was the day he had been waiting for; the day he had studied so long and hard for.

The Rogers household was not financially well off. Sarah was a single mother, widowed before Steve was even born. She’d received a payout from the military to compensate for Joe’s death but she put the money away for Steve’s education and worked as a nurse for Steve’s whole life to make ends meet. At one stage, when Steve was sick, she even took up a second job cleaning at the hospital in between shifts. She worked herself to the bone to care for her precious son, and she could not have been prouder to see him grow into a generous, independent young man.

Steve didn’t necessarily feel guilty about the efforts Sarah went through to raise him; it was something else. It was more a sense of duty and responsibility to repay her and make her proud. He didn’t care if he got called a mama’s boy, because it was true and in his eyes it wasn’t a bad thing.

Growing up poor and asthmatic, Steve was somewhat of a social outcast. He didn’t have a lot of friends to run around with; not that he would have been capable of doing so anyway. Instead, Steve took to drawing as a way to escape into a better world. He always had a different fascination, and challenged himself to learning new styles. He went through a pop-art phase and designed a mock 1950s style movie poster that still hangs on his wall today. He designed cartoon characters, then tried his hand at caricatures and then attempted portraiture. He went through a naturalistic phase, and then in his mid-teens he got a bit angsty and started throwing paint around in an abstract expressionist style. Even if he had no one to talk to, he could always illustrate how he felt, and he was very proud of his artistic talents if nothing else.

However, he was well aware that art in itself was a risky career choice. Sarah claimed that she would support Steve to do whatever he loved, but Steve refused to study if he wouldn’t be promised job security in the long run. He deserved more than that, and god knows Sarah deserved some financial security for all her trouble. He wanted to be able to give his mother a better life and eventually raise his own children more comfortably if and when that time came. The school career counsellors suggested art history, art teaching, even graphic design, but none of those choices appealed to him. They weren’t quite romantic enough. Finally, one day in his junior year, his History class had an emergency substitute teacher who hadn’t prepared for the assigned curriculum. He didn’t know anything about the topic the class was supposed to be learning, so he thought on his feet and started talking to the class about architectural history to pass the time. Steve always listened to the teacher, so he tuned in and to put it lightly, he basically had a religious experience.

His eyes boggled and a chill ran down his spine as he watched the teacher scroll through a projection of buildings, explaining the history and significance of each architectural style. _So much history,_ Steve thought; _the form, the detail, the design; such elegance and grandeur_. He needed to learn more. He needed to tour Europe and see these magnificent Gothic and Renaissance designs for himself. The city of New York itself even took on a whole new light once Steve started looking at detail at its design. He needed to sketch them and study their form. He… needed to study architecture!  Steve nearly couldn’t stay still in his seat as he bubbled over with excitement, for he had realized his career path.

It wasn’t all smooth sailing though. Once he told his mother about his epiphany, they researched study options and discovered that tuition was impossibly expensive. Even if Steve worked for five years before going to college, he would be nowhere near being able to afford his dream. Sarah remained hopeful for her son’s future though and suggested, “why don’t you go and talk to your career counsellor again, Stevie. Maybe there are some scholarships out there that could help.”

It turned out that there were some very prestigious scholarships out there for architecture students. To receive them however, was another matter entirely. They were highly competitive and only awarded to students exhibiting spectacular potential and near perfect grades. Steve lost hope for a while, but his teachers and mother maintained that he was talented enough. He therefore decided to work his butt off in his final year, to get the best grades he could possibly obtain, and work on a portfolio to kill for.  

Steve succeeded. He worked all summer in a book store to save up for new clothes and course materials.

* * *

 

Steve woke up extra early to make sure he was properly fed, showered, dressed and pepped for his first day. He managed to say a quick goodbye to his mum before she left for her 8am shift. He then took the subway as per usual and walked into his first ever official day of Architecture class, listening to “Alive” by Sia.

The day went by relatively quickly and easily. All lectures and tutorials for the week were introductory and Steve was fairly familiar with the basics. He wasn’t too keen on the ‘getting to know you’ activities though. There were only so many times a person could announce “who they were and why they chose to study architecture” and there were only so many “interesting facts” about himself Steve could recall. Yeah… _I’m a puny dweeb with a bible full of health problems, no dad, I’m poor and I’m a virgin!_ Yeah right. He stuck to saying he 18 years old, from Brooklyn and he liked art.

The week went by and Steve fell easily into his routine. By Thursday he was settling in quite well, going to the cafeteria for lunch and reading novels so he didn’t look like a loner. It wasn’t that he was lonely. He just preferred his own company the majority of the time. He just wanted to make sure other people didn’t think he was a loser for sitting alone.

In class on Thursday, he had to pair up and complete yet another ‘getting to know you’ activity. However this time, his partner was friendlier than usual and they had to give three facts; two false and one true about themselves and the partner had to try and guess the truth. Steve felt less vulnerable this time because he enjoyed a bit of shit-stirring. His partner was named Sam. He said that he was technically a sophomore but he had screwed around and changed degrees so he was finishing off a couple of units from his first year. For the activity, he went first, and gave three facts. 1: He said he loved dogs. 2: He was a politician 3: He was the fastest sprinter at his high school. Steve glared at him suspiciously trying to figure him out. Was he more of an Obama or a Bolt... or were they both bullshit? Nah the dog one is too boring. If he said running was that racist?

“What’s it gonna be man?” He asked playfully.

“Okay, this is a weird line of logic but bear with me. I think the dog one is too plain and the running too stereotypical. So I’m gonna put it out there and guess that you’re somehow political.”

Sam gaped, “too smart for your own good. Yep, I’m the Student Welfare Officer on the SRC. About the dog one, I’m a bird man actually. Put the dog one in there because most people like dogs and you were right about the third. I do run but I’m not exactly a champion runner. Now your turn.”

“Okay…” Steve started, “number one; I ride a motorcycle. Number two; my dad is a dentist. Number 3; I won a baking prize at the last royal show.”

Sam grimaced, this time trying to figure Steve out. “I would like to say the motorcycle one is too ridiculous. But then your dad could be a dentist and you look like you might bake.”

“Oi, just because I have pretty hands doesn’t mean I’m a domestic goddess!”

“Whatever you say Rogers. Regardless, I’m gonna say you baked a nifty cake.”

Steve imitated a honking sound and admitted, “I told you I was no goddess. Actually, I do ride a bike! I just don’t ride it all that often because of the parking fees.”

Steve and Sam were both laughing now. “Ah shit, this is so funny,” Sam laughed. “I look like the jock but I look after student welfare. And you’re little but you ride a goddamn motorbike. You’re pretty cool, dude.”

And just like that, they became best classmates.

 

* * *

 

Steve was on his way home for the day when he ran into Peggy Carter again. They had messaged back and forth a few times, to say good luck with college and to arrange to meet up again. They were supposed to have coffee on Tuesday, but Peggy had to bail at the last minute.

“Hey Steve! I’m so sorry I stood you up on Tuesday. Some old greyheaded douchebags decided the Women’s Room wasn’t necessary because _equality and all_ so they started using it as a store room for old computers so I was alerted when a mother who wanted to breastfeed couldn’t get in and another girl who had wanted some time out from an ex-abuser needed to find another safe space…”

“Okay. I’m not following but, that sucks.”

“Oh didn’t I tell you? I’m the Gender Equity officer on the SRC. I was elected in April. So basically, I’m responsible for things like that; bystander intervention, rights for student parents, unisex toilets…”

“Peggy that’s really cool oh my god!” Steve nearly couldn’t contain his excitement. Two more student council contacts in one day. The universe definitely wanted him to make a difference in this world.

“I’m glad someone thinks so. Because if I have to hear someone say ONE MORE TIME that we don’t need this SRC portfolio because ‘women are equal now’, I am going to kick someone in the teeth. And don’t even get me started on STEM disciplines…”

Steve nodded, inspired but equally fearful of Peggy’s confidence.

“Anyway,” Peggy continued. “I’ve been thinking about something, and I was gonna wait until next Tuesday to bring it up, but, well, your acceptance of my work kinda just sealed the deal. Would you like to go on a date with me Steve Rogers?”

“Um…” Steve stuttered. “I would. But I don’t have any money so it will have to be something pretty casual…”

Before he could finish Peggy cut in, “I just spent five minutes talking to you about feminism so as if I’d suddenly go all 1950’s on you. I asked so I’m paying. I think you’d love this cabaret restaurant some family friends of mine own. It’s pretty theatrical, like a dinner and show thing, with all costumes and stuff. Then you can get up and dance with the cast afterwards.”

“Oh, I don’t dance…”

“Oh but you will! You just wait!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STEM= Science, Technology, Engineering, Mathematics.
> 
> Up next: The date goes well (as well as dates between platonic friends go.)  
> And more Bucky!

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me weightlessnessa.tumblr.com


End file.
